Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. ” She took his hand, interrupting him. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. I knew where I would go next: Florence. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. That blow made me a thief. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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